He panted, “Touch yourself, baby. Make yourself come.” Obediently, she reached between her legs and inserted her middle finger deep into her pussy, petting her G-spot while her thumb worked her clit. Pressing his body close to her back, he held her to him and grabbed one of her tits, squeezing the nipple hard until she squealed. He rocked deep inside her ass, his hips slamming against her.
She called out, “Nico, I’m coming, baby…”
Feeling her shudder, coming apart as she melted under him, he hammered her hard until he erupted inside her ass.
Erin was still feeling the buzz from what Nico called his “special brew.” Every time she asked what it was he would never say, just calling it a special brew and saying it was healthy. One time, he went so far as to say it contained tea and a supplement for energy, but no more than that. All she knew was it gave her the most intense orgasms—or maybe that was all Nico’s doing.
Dressed for his yoga session, Nico emerged from the bathroom. “Let’s go, Erin. My class will be arriving any minute.”
Nico woke to the tempting aroma of bacon, eggs, and coffee coming from the kitchen. Filling him in during breakfast, Sofia reported, “I talked to Lindsay, and she’ll do another piece about you if it has a different spin. She said because the last article in Bazaar focused on your yoga practice, this one should focus on energy medicine instead.” He looked pleased, so she continued, “She told me to include information about the healing practices of the Q’ero paqos and your experiences living with them. What do you think?”
Excitedly, Nico replied, “That’s perfect, Sofia! Erin just said she wants to have a director she works with do a documentary about me. Having a corresponding article would be perfect. You should get on that right away.”
When she was cleaning up the breakfast dishes, Nico yelled in, “My dad is back, and says we should come to his house for Christmas.”
Not one to give up easily, Sofia had tried unsuccessfully to convince Nico to spend Christmas in New York City with her family. He eventually succeeded in convincing her that traveling over the holidays would be a nightmare, and it was too cold in New York in December. He said if anything, they should go to St. Barths. Sofia consoled herself with the fact she’d seen her dad on her birthday. Having been really depressed about missing Christmas with her family, this news thrilled her.
Nico came into the kitchen and sidled up behind her, caressing her butt. “So, Spyder, are you happy now that we have a place to go for Christmas?”
She turned, and wrapping her arms around him, kissed him deeply. “Yes! I’m really looking forward to finally meeting your father, too.”
Nico laughed, “He’s crazy! We fight all the time. He has no sense sometimes.”
Seizing the opportunity, Sofia asked, “Tell me about him. When did he come to L.A.?”
Nico leaned on the counter as she returned to the dishes. “He had his own restaurant in New York with Mario, who owns La Forza. I was a kid then, and that restaurant was a very cool place to hang out—lots of models and rock stars ate there all the time. When the restaurant closed, Mario came out here, and my father got into importing wine from Argentina. Then he moved here, too.” Pausing to reflect, he added cheerfully, “We’ll have good wine for Christmas!”
Sofia’s contentment was soon curtailed by the sound of Nico cursing in Spanish.
“What’s wrong?” she asked and was immediately sorry she had.
“Erin’s fucking lawyer just sent me a bill for $1,500! She’s trying to fuck me over. I know it. Now I have to fight with Erin to make this go away,” he ranted.
“Well, what’s the bill for?”
Nico scowled. “All she was supposed to do was file my trademark and LLC.”
She suggested, “Wait, Nico. Before you jump to any conclusions, first ask what the invoice is for, then you can negotiate.”
He pounced, “You’re such an idiot! You don’t know anything. To you, everything is a negotiation. I’m not paying this. These women are all out to fuck me, and they’re all whores.” He turned and shoved his laptop toward Sofia. “You call this lawyer and tell her you’re my assistant. Find out what this is for, and get her to remove this bill!”
Sofia was appalled. “I don’t mind doing you favors, but I’m not your assistant. I’m your girlfriend! I want to help you, and I like writing articles about you, but I don’t want to call the lawyer!”
His face reddening, he grabbed the nearest phone and shoved it in her face, raging. The veins in his head popped out with fury. “You will call her! Right now, Sofia. Now!”
Frightened by Nico’s rage, she took the phone from him saying quietly, “OK, but I won’t give her my real name.”
He snarled, “You can tell her you’re the fucking whore of paradise for all I care. Just fix it, Sofia. Fix it!”
Still fearful, but unwilling to let this go, she whimpered, “I didn’t create this problem for you, Nico. So don’t speak to me that way.” Regaining her voice, she provoked him, “Or call your whore Erin to fix it for you!”
Nico’s eyes bulged and his face turned dark red. Before she knew what was happening, he had shoved her further back onto the couch and punched her in the arm, just hard enough to make his point. He growled, “Call the lawyer now, Sofia. And shut the fuck up!”
Dialing the number, Sofia was sobbing. When a woman answered, she pulled herself together, and without giving a name, said she was calling regarding an invoice sent to Nico Romero. Steadying her voice, she inquired about the fees.
The lawyer replied, “Oh, those are the fees for filing the trademark, the LLC, and the additional publishing cost. Those have to be done within a set time frame or he’ll lose the registration.”
“I see,” Sofia replied, as professionally as she could muster. “Thank you so much.” She hung up and looked at Nico.
He wasn’t pleased. “You should have told her I didn’t ask for that to be done. That’s ridiculous and too much money!”
Feeling less afraid again now, Sofia prodded, “You just told me to find out if it was a legitimate charge. She said it is. It’s not her fee, it’s from the State of California. So you can take it up with them—or ask Erin to pay it!”
Now in a completely horrific mood, Nico hissed his next order, “Get dressed. I need you to follow me to the bike shop. They did something wrong, and now the Ducati isn’t running right.”
Sofia wished she was at work, where people were polite and appreciated her. Worn down by him, she didn’t even care how she dressed, just throwing on jeans, a sweatshirt, and her new motorcycle boots. After dropping Nico off, she’d go shopping for Christmas presents for Roberto and his wife.
Sitting in the car at the bike shop waiting for Nico, her agent called with exciting news. “Sofia, it’s not really official yet, but the gossip on the grapevine is Going My Way will win The Writers Guild Award for Best New Series!” he squealed.
“I’m so excited!” she shrieked. “That is such great news! Are you sure? I don’t want to get my hopes up…” While chatting, she ignored the call waiting beep from Nico.
Just as she hung up, Nico called again. “What the fuck, Sofia! Why the fuck didn’t you pick up? I’ve been calling you,” he screamed.
“Sorry, Nico, but I was on the phone with my agent,” she apologized.
He fumed, “I don’t give a fuck if you were on with the Pope. You answer me when I call you! Do you understand?! I…come…first.” He spat the words out like miniature fireballs. “Your stupid little writing project means nothing. Now get in here—and bring your credit card!” he hissed.
Tears springing to her eyes, she decided not to tell him about the award. He wouldn’t even hear her now, anyway. She’d just wait until she received the award, then maybe he’d appreciate her! But she couldn’t wait to tell Daddy—as soon as Nico wasn’t around.
After she’d paid the bill in the bike shop, Nico coolly informed her that he had important business to attend to and would text her later. With his i
nner psycho full blown, she didn’t dare ask where he was going.
After luckily finding an open meter on North Camden, Sofia opened the front door of the low brick building with black bell-shaped awnings, and was hit by the delightful aroma of leather. Il Bisonte’s décor still adhered to the old world charm of the original workshop in Florence, Italy. She decided to get his dad a classic notebook to use as a wine journal. The leather would develop a fine patina with age, but she couldn’t decide between cognac and dark brown. She finally settled on the dark brown, thinking it the most elegant. Nico had never said much about Roberto’s wife, Claudia, other than they didn’t get along very well. She spotted an old-fashioned French framed coin purse in ruby red. Without even knowing Claudia, Sofia thought it was perfect. Then, at the last minute, she saw a black leather Dopp kit and knew how much Nico would appreciate it, since he usually just threw his toiletries in a Ziploc bag.
Getting home before Nico, Sofia hid the Christmas gifts where he wouldn’t find them. After taking a bath in lavender oil, she put on a short, fuchsia slip dress, and new Christian Louboutin metallic high-heeled sandals. Clipping her hair back in a low ponytail, she poured herself a glass of wine, then began pulling out ingredients for her marinara sauce. At about nine o’clock, she finally heard the bike pull into the drive, then Nico’s footsteps on the deck stairs. He didn’t say anything when he came in. Opting for cheery, she chirped, “Hi, honey. How was your day?”
He replied tersely, “Erin’s got some things going on for me. You need to get that article on energy healing done and published right away.”
Sofia noticed a new chain around his neck, and glimpsing a pendant, asked, “What’s that around your neck?”
Nico responded just as casually, “A Christmas gift from Erin. It’s John Hardy.”
“Let me see it,” she said sweetly. “Did you pick it out? I know you like dragons.”
“No, it’s a gift.”
Stinging from his veneration of Erin, she blurted, “It’s cool, Nico. Shame it’s stainless instead of sterling.”
Seeming to ignore her small dig, he left her to her cooking, announcing he was going to take a shower. That was just as well—Sofia could smell Erin’s scent, and she was itching for a fight. There was something about the smell of tobacco and patchouli that grossed her out.
Nico returned from his shower wearing sexy, low-slung lounging pants. Leaning over the pot of bubbling, thick red sauce and seemingly looking for a fight too, he questioned snidely, “What are you doing, Sofia?”
“I’m making my boyfriend a delicious home-cooked dinner. Would you like a glass of wine, honey?” she drawled in a saccharine musical tone.
Nico came over to the counter and took the glass from her, then clipped, “Hmmm. That’s not how I do it. You don’t know how to cook.”
He’d kept his inflection emotionless, but Sofia knew he was starting in with her. “Would you like to take over? I just finished the meatballs,” she offered.
“No, you go ahead. Do your thing,” he replied nonchalantly.
She poured the box of rigatoni into a large pot of boiling water and set the timer. Lifting a wooden spoon to her mouth, she blew gently to cool the steaming medley of crushed tomatoes, garlic, herbs, and caramelized onions simmering in another pot. She’d begun calling it tomato sauce, but her family still referred to it as gravy, as did most traditional Italians. After tasting it, she added several more pinches of red pepper flakes.
When the pasta was al dente, she drained it, then added some of the gravy and olive oil before cooking it on top of the stove for the last few minutes—serving the meatballs on the side. She invited Nico to sit down at the table, set with her turquoise Old Havana stoneware dishes and etched glass stemware from Anthropologie that her mom had given her. She loved the one-of-a-kind hand-stamped dinner plates, particularly how they picked up on the turquoise accents in the room. The glassware had an old world feel, complementing her “rediscovered” flatware, actually a mix and match collection of patterns reclaimed from old hotels and ocean liners. Placing lace-trimmed white cotton napkins next to their plates, she turned off the lights and lit the candles. Cascading moonlight and flickering flames through the glassware created dancing shadows on the high, white walls.
As he sat, Nico remarked how nice everything looked, leading Sofia to think that maybe his mood had changed for the better. He ate some pasta, then took a bite of a meatball, her Sicilian grandmother’s recipe, and made a face. “They’re not as good as mine, but they’ll do for tonight.”
She let him have it. “Nico, you should be nice and appreciate that I made my grandmother’s recipe for you. They’re delicious; I tasted them myself.”
He snapped, “Well you don’t have taste buds then. They’re no good! I’m telling you—mine are much better!”
Sofia took the bait. “We’re not talking about the ones between your legs! You can suck them yourself,” she hissed. “Don’t eat my food, then. Go back and eat with Erin Whelan, that bitch, and let her eat your balls!”
Nico’s eyes flashed like lightning, and an appropriately stormy look swept over his face. When he stood up, Sofia was instantly terrified, unsure what he might be getting ready to do. Picking up a meatball, he smashed it on her head. Humiliated, she threw a punch at him, but he caught her before it landed and twisted her arm behind her back. He kept twisting until she couldn’t stay on her chair anymore, finally dropping to her knees before him. Glaring darkly into her eyes, he commanded, “YOU suck them.”
He hadn’t even said her name. Ashamed and frightened, Sofia looked down at the floor. Nico entangled his fingers in her hair, repeating, “Suck them. Now!” He yanked his sweat pants down and kicked them off. Growling in the guttural tone he had when psycho Nico was in control, he ordered, “Now, Sofia!”
Looking up, she saw he was already hard; the fight had stimulated him.
Though she was angry and mortified, she also knew this was the way to win with him—the only way she’d ever found. So she cupped his balls softly in the palm of her hand and half-heartedly took one into her mouth.
“Not like that!” Nico roared. “Lick them like you mean it!”
Frightened, Sofia softly licked first one ball, then the other, taking them in her mouth and gently sucking.
Nico moaned, “Now suck my cock, bitch.”
Taking his full length into her mouth, getting him really wet with her saliva, she sucked him, only taking him out of her mouth to flick the head with her tongue. Gripping his cock and sliding her head up and down the shaft, she felt him harden to his full rigidity before moving her hand back down to play with his balls. When she slid her wet finger into his ass, he groaned and pushed his hips up to fuck her mouth harder, grabbing the hair at the back of her head to control her. Sofia had no idea if Erin could pleasure him as well as she did, and she wasn’t going to dwell on it. She’d just make sure he called her name when he came in her mouth.
When his cock hit the back of her throat, Nico bucked and rolled his hips to meet her as she repeatedly pumped him in and out of her mouth, using her thumb to rub the mushroomed head. His thighs straining, he was practically elevated off the chair, his fingers entwined in her golden mane as he plunged his cock further into her mouth. Soon, Sofia felt him twitching to come, and shoved him all the way in for his climax. He let out a strangled groan and called her name, pulling her head into his groin while she swallowed the hot jets of cum. Afterward he was calm, and she put him on the sofa with a bottle of wine while she went to take a shower and wash her hair. The lion had again been tamed, at least for a little while.
11
Sofia couldn’t believe Nico had never had a Christmas tree. This being their first Christmas together, she decided to surprise him with one decorated as beautifully as the ones she’d had at home in New York. Waiting for him to leave for the studio, where he’d be occupied all day, she dawdled around the house before pulling on a pair of skinny jeans and a long-sleeved James Perse top
. It was sunny and warm for December, so she wore her new white Belstaff leather motorcycle jacket and put the top down on the Porsche then headed over to Mr. Greentrees in West Hollywood, where all the decorators went. The young man in the lot was more than attentive, and after asking him to drag out at least ten trees for her scrutiny, she selected the fullest tree that would reach to the top of her vaulted ceiling at the far end by the fireplace, in front of the sliding glass doors to the deck.
Telling the delivery guy she needed an hour’s head start, Sofia gave him a large tip in advance, ensuring that he’d help wrap the dozens of strands of mini lights she purchased, and put the big star on top. Her next stop was Neiman Marcus, where she bought German blown-glass angels, long glass icicles that reflected the light, handmade birds with real feathers that clip onto the branches, and glitter-encrusted glass moons and stars. Spying a box of delicate gold seahorse ornaments, she smiled, thinking she’d wrap them as a special gift for Nico, knowing how much he loved seahorses. Happily, she found a turquoise velvet tree skirt that coordinated with her décor and a number of white pillar candles to create a romantic ambiance. At the counter, she picked up silver and gold plaid wrapping paper with wide red French wire ribbon, determined to make her first Christmas with Nico special and show him he had a home with her.
Wearing La Perla tap shorts and a lace tank top, she stood back to admire the majestic tree decked out with the lights and sparkling ornaments, just as she heard the Ducati pull into the drive. She poured some wine and lit the candles, trembling with excitement in anticipation of Nico’s reaction. Standing by the kitchen counter, out of view, she listened to his footsteps on the stairs. When he came through the door, he froze and just stared, not speaking for at least thirty seconds. When Sofia was about to say something, he murmured in awe, “Sofia, honey. It’s so…beautiful…you did all this?”
The Sleeping Serpent: A woman's struggle to break an obsessive bond with her yoga master Page 16
